


Who's Down For a game of Hide and Go Seek?

by AppalachianApologies



Series: Appalachian's 2020 Whumptober [8]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: A few "inmates", Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Panic, Panic Attacks, Panicking, Spencer's not coping as well as he wants everyone to think, Spencer's straight up not having a good time, and Luis, and also Shaw is metioned, okay?, poor kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26897503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: Spencer was just supposed to grab his jacket. But now he's back in prison, death threats looming above his head.Day 8: Abandoned | Isolation
Series: Appalachian's 2020 Whumptober [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948174
Comments: 33
Kudos: 166
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Who's Down For a game of Hide and Go Seek?

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! This one is a bit different than the last few days, and I hope you all enjoy it! I had always wanted to write a good post-prison fic, because honestly? There's not enough haha, and I hope this did the trick!
> 
> Note: This fic includes PTSD and panic attacks, as well as self harm, but self harm isn't the goal, per say. It's more of an... accident? Nevertheless, if this is triggering, don't read it! 
> 
> That being said, enjoy! :D

The team was just supposed to be getting drinks to celebrate the victory of the last case. Not only were they able to bring in the unsub without any injuries, they were able to save the last victim. All around, it was a victory.

They got home early in the evening, and Emily, ever the Unit Chief, made the executive decision to bring the team to a bar. No one complained.

After taking a few minutes for Simmons and JJ to call their family and say goodnight to their respective children, Emily was ushering everyone out the door, determined to get drunk as fast as possible using the FBI budget.

And not tell Cruz, of course.

Everything was going great. Everything was going to plan, and everything was fine. They all left Emily’s office, heading out the glass doors, listening to Rossi complain about American scotch, when Spencer turned back to grab his jacket.

Everything was fine.

He went back to Emily’s office, took his jacket off of the chair, and-

And.

And then his heart started to beat fast, faster, the fastest it’s ever been. And then his breath caught in his chest, and he began to sweat, and all of a sudden, the walls closed in.

Shaw’s overconfident tone echos in Spencer’s head, his casual reminder that Luis was killed, and there was nothing Spencer did about it.

The hands of gen pop along with their grasping fingers, all reaching for Spencer.

All reaching for the Fed, the Fed that needed to be taught a lesson.

Without thinking twice, Spencer folds himself between Emily’s filing cabinet and her bookshelf, jacket discarded. He hunches down, neck coming to rest at his shoulders, and pushing his legs closer to his chest. 

Spencer can hear his panicked breaths, but more importantly, he can hear the snarls of the other inmates, all dressed in gray, all bleeding from the mouth.

His cold little cell is the only time he’s safe, away from the men that so desperately want to tear him apart, piece by piece. Hands grasp for his clothes, but Spencer pushes himself back.

He can get himself back in SHU, back to safety, if he gives the guards a believable reason. The jagged metal of the old filing cabinet could be used as a shiv. As long as Spencer gets to it first, he could use it. 

After carefully making sure that none of the inmates are going to go after him if he moves, Spencer quietly grabs the edge of the metal. The paint is half chipped off, shiny metal the only thing greeting him. He has to twist and turn the metal until it’s weak enough for him to pull it off, and by the time he’s done, his hands are slippery with blood.

Each time he turns the metal it bites into his fingers and palms, making the next turn that much more difficult. The blood makes everything too slippery, and when he tries to pull it off, he just tears more of his palm into pieces. With his quick thinking, Spencer uses the hem of his shirt, which gives him enough leverage to grab the now-shiv.

Carefully concealing it under his sleeves, Spencer folds himself back into the crevice between the couch and the filing cabinet, and forces his breathing to be quiet. The only thing Spencer can hear is the puff and huffs of his breathing, which just sets him on edge. 

He can’t hear any prisoners bickering, he can’t hear any slurs, and worst of all, he can’t hear the footsteps of guards. Without them, he’s sure to die in prison.

Hell,  _ with _ them he nearly died.

Finally, he hears footsteps. It doesn’t sound like solid rubber soles on linoleum, and Spencer knows it isn’t a guard. It must be one of the cocaine victims, here to get his revenge. Unluckily for him, Spencer’s prepared with a shiv.

The door opens, and the feet take one, two, three, steps, before the man turns around.

Launching himself off the floor, Spencer makes an effort to knock the man down. Like all inmates, that will anger him, and make the fight not just believable, but real. He feels the man grab his shoulders, but the inmate isn’t attacking him directly.

That won’t work.

He won’t get to solitary housing unless it looks like he’s been attacked! Worst of all, no guards have even shown up yet. If there’s no witnesses, he’ll either die right now, or maybe tomorrow during breakfast.

Calculating the chances of survival in different situations, Spencer lets the jagged piece of metal drop from his shirt sleeve into his right hand. The other inmate jerks back, probably from fear, but Spencer closes the gap, ensuring that the fight will look real.

Spencer takes the inmate’s wrist, forcing him to grab the shiv, before pushing it into the top of Spencer’s own arm.

Metal sticks out of Spencer’s arm like a scarecrow in a field, and the other inmate stumbles back. Spencer just grins.

Even if this won’t get him into SHU, he’ll still spend time in the infirmary, safe from Shaw’s gang. Safe from every other inmate in prison. Safe from death.

After only a few moments of being stunned, the other inmate closes the gap between them, and Spencer’s heart skips a beat. Or two. 

If the man actually fights him and the guards still don’t show up, there’s a good chance that he dies here. On the other hand, if he doesn’t die, this will ensure that he spends the night, possibly the week in SHU.

He has to make a decision, and fast. The inmate is already reaching out to grab his arm.

Moving on pure instinct, Spencer flinches away, finding the corner of his cell to scrunch back into. 

Where the hell are the guards?

The other inmate follows him to the corner of Spencer’s cell, but doesn’t move any further. He just stands there, looming over Spencer’s huddled form. A hand reaches toward him, and when he flinches back on instinct, causing his head to hit against the wall.

It feels wonderful.

Spencer hits his head on the wall again, and it feels just as good. So he leans forward and hits his head again, and again, and again, and again, and it’s definitely the most soothing thing he’s felt in a long time.

Someone near him shouts, and soon that voice turns into two, and then into three.

A voice finally cuts through, and he doesn’t know how.

“Spencer.”

Inmates don’t call him that. Guards don’t call him that. Nobody calls him that, except for his mom, and she’s not here, hell, she might not even remember Spencer. He brings his head forward and back, letting it slam against the wall, except this time there’s something thick cushioning the back of his skull.

“Spencer.” That same voice. Who is it? “Spencer.”

He looks up. Luke is visiting? That doesn’t make any sense, unless it’s about Shaw- and oh God, oh God, ohgodohgodohgod, Shaw is out to get him- but that’s okay! Because he’s going to get into SHU because of his defensive wounds, and it’s going to be just fine, and-

“Spencer, please,” Luke’s hand reaches out, and it jolts Spencer into action.

“You can’t touch me!” He shouts, squirming away, into what seems to be a couch pillow behind him. 

Luke quickly withdraws his hand, putting both of them up in a surrender fashion.

“There’s no touching allowed,” Spencer explains, still itching to get away from Luke so the guards don’t have any reason to punish him.

Luke swallows, and Spencer can see his Adam's apple bob. “Spencer, take a deep breath for me, okay?”

“You can’t touch me,” Spencer reiterates, eyes wild with fear.

“I’m not going to touch you, okay? I just need you to take a breath.”

With shifty eyes, Spencer complies.

“Can you put your hands on the floor, Spencer?”

Suspicious, Spencer questions, “Why?”

Luke quickly answers, “Just try. For me,” 

Spencer places his right hand down beside his pulled up legs, and his eyes widen. The prison doesn’t have wooden floors.  _ The prison doesn’t have wooden floors. _ So where the hell is he?

As if to confirm, Spencer places his left hand on the ground, ignoring the large piece of metal sticking out of his arm. His fingers grope around the boards, until suddenly falling still.

“What does the floor feel like, Spencer?” Luke asks, voice still suspiciously calm.

Eyes scrunched, he answers, “It-it’s wood. The floors are wooden. Polished. It’s a polished wood floor.”

Nodding, Luke tries, “Look at it. What do you see?”

“It’s a wooden floor.”

“What else is in this room?”

“A couch,” Spencer answers, eyes on brown, faux leather. “And a desk?”

“Spencer, do you know where you are right now?”

Before answering, Spencer feels his breathing pick up. “I’m in- oh God- I’m in Emily’s office, I- Luke?”

A worried smile coming to his face, he confirms, “Yeah, Spencer, it’s me. It’s Luke.”

Breath catching on the way up, he questions with wild eyes, “Luke? Are you- did I- are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m okay.” He quickly responds, hoping that it will calm the younger man down. And it does, but only for a fraction of a second. Right after, Spencer begins hyperventilating in earnest.

“Spencer, I need you to breathe, okay? Spencer?”

Shaking his head, the younger man replies, “I can’t. I thought I was- I thought I was back-” He cuts himself off with a sob.

Heart breaking, Luke soothes, “I know. I know, but you’re okay now. You’re at the BAU, in Emily’s office. Safe.”

Spencer’s eyes find his arm, and he looks at it as if he wasn’t the one that just stabbed himself. Breathlessly, he questions, “What did I…?”

“You’re okay, Spencer,” Luke expresses, but Spencer’s barely taking in oxygen at this point, and his face is growing paler and paler in each passing second. Taking a risk, Luke reaches out, placing his hand on Spencer’s knee.

After an initial flinch, Spencer looks up at Luke. “What did I do?”

“You’re okay now,” Luke reiterates, avoiding the question. There’s a first aid kit in Emily’s desk, okay? I need to grab that, but it’ll only take a second.”

The unspoken, “Will you be okay for a single second?” passes through, and Spencer nods. 

True to his word, it takes Luke less than ten seconds to open Emily’s desk and pull out the red plastic box, before he’s once again sitting in front of Spencer.

“Just keep breathing,” He instructs. After hastily inspecting the wound, Luke declares it to be shallow enough to have not done any major damage, but the jagged metal edges are determined to make it painful when he pulls the makeshift shiv out.

Spencer stares with glassy eyes as the metal is removed from his arm, not making any indication that he feels anything. Luke’s jaw clenches with worry. 

“This might sting,” He acknowledges, dabbing peroxide on a cloth before rubbing the outside of his cut with it. Spencer continues to stare, and the only indication of life he shows is the occasional blink. 

Luke works faster.

He places clean gauze on the gash before securing it with an ACE wrap, ensuring that it’s tight enough to not fall off, but not too tight to where he’d cut off Spencer’s blood supply. 

Spencer still doesn’t show anything that demonstrates he knows what’s going on.

Leaning to the side until he can see Emily’s face through her window, Luke announces, “You can come in now. But maybe not all of you,” He adds, glancing at the four other onlookers.

Emily walks in quietly, truely a feat in her heels. “Hey, Spence?” She asks in a hush tone. When he doesn’t answer, or even look toward her, Emily turns to Luke. “Is he in shock?”

Thinking back to his army days (not that he could forget), Luke shakes his head. “Just dissociating. I think.”

With a quick breath in, Emily questions, “What happened?”

Not taking his eyes off of Spencer, he answers, “He thought he was back in prison. I think he tore off a piece of your filing cabinet and stabbed himself with it,” Luke shakes his head in desperation.

“I thought he was doing okay.” She sadly notes.

Biting the side of his cheek, Luke agrees, “I think he just wanted us to think that.”

“Fuck,” Emily quietly muses to herself, before crouching next to her friend’s huddled form. “Spence? Can you hear me?”

Spencer just stays staring straight forward, eliciting a sigh out of Emily. 

Turning back to Luke she confirms, “Can you stay with him?” Luke nods. He doesn’t think he could leave Spencer at a time like this. “Okay. Good. I need to go talk to Cruz,”

Luke can’t help but frown, “Prentiss-”

“Alvez.” Emily counters in a no nonsense tone. He knows he isn’t going to win an argument with her.

A few seconds later, Luke is alone with Spencer once again. He swallows, before asking, “Hey, Spencer, do you want to move to the couch?”

Spencer breathes in, before giving the shallowest nod Luke’s ever seen.

The older man smiles, grabbing the back of Spencer’s elbows to help him stand up. He hasn’t seen Spencer this shaky on his feet since the holding cell in Mexico. Luckily, the trip is only a few feet in front of them, and in a matter of seconds Luke has deposited the other agent on the couch.

He grabs the pillow that he was using to shield Spencer’s head, wordlessly handing it off to the man sitting perfectly straight on a cushion.

Looking to his fragile form, Luke quietly informs him, “You can rest now.”

He’s startled when Spencer responds, no matter how quiet it is. “I can’t rest.”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t been able to rest for years,”

“Spencer?”

Still looking forward, Spencer continues, “I thought they’d go away by now,”

“Who would go away?”

“The ghosts.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Luke quietly admits,

“Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I don't mean to end my fics with a bittersweet sad line, but here we are. Again. With a bittersweet sad line at the end.
> 
> Uh, yeah! I'd love to hear your thoughts about this fic, and also let me know if you know of any good post prison fics haha. Come talk with me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/appalachianapologies) (AppalachianApologies) if you'd like! I'm always so down to meet new people :D
> 
> I love you all very much, and I hope you all are doing okay. If you find yourself in a bad or scary situation, here are some hotlines (Please keep in mind that the written out numbers are US hotlines)
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, here's a list of [international hotlines.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)  
> You are not alone, and I love you all <3
> 
> Much love to all of you, and take care until tomorrow!! <3


End file.
